For Richer, For Smaller (Chapter 26) (Patreon)

The giantess had come to a stop, which should’ve been a relief for Tony. But the fact that she’d reached her destination – a place she had no business being – only piled greater anxiety-overloaded dismay into his crushed-down little heart. As if the knowledge of where she was right now, and the terrifying unknown of whatever she thought she was about to do, was magically causing her to grow into a literal amazon atop her reluctantly macrophilic foot-man, taller and denser and more-commanding by the second. It made his flattening bones creak below her arch like rusted hinges just to think of it. Plus, even though he was now temporarily exempt from the seismic pistoning rhythm of his wife’s forward steps hailing down upon him one sole-splat at a time, the half-footer had enough practice under his belt by now to recognize that Lillian was actively shifting most of her body weight into the leg that was currently pinning his collapsing beet-flushed little frame over the inadequate padding of her specialized insole. Ever on top of her husband, in all ways possible, she’d apparently anticipated that he was waiting for an opportunity to abandon all shame and reveal himself to his former gophers with a scream on the slim chance of rescue. And so she simply removed that hopeful expectation of his by invisibly yet imperiously cumbering him with the consistent firming mass that was the ball of her foot.

Though despite how much undersole burden Tony was tanking now, suffocated and heat-stroked and laboring under so many different systematic flavors of trample-induced pain from his spouse’s megalomaniacal foot that he couldn’t even mentally identify them all at once, somehow he could still hear voices above. It was only softly, yes, muffled to incoherence by layers of saltwatery leather lining and the meaty stage of Lillian’s raw underfoot trying so hard to cancel out every last sliver of existing space between their skins. But while all light and basically oxygen as well had been cut off completely from reaching him deep in that fashionable vessel, somehow or other, Tony could nonetheless perceive that his wife was saying something – and even intuit some of her tone by the trickle-down vibrations of her uncharacteristically booming voice resonating all the way into the soles of her feet. So while Lillian’s actual articulated words still eluded the shrinker, as if garbled into another language entirely because of the extreme duress mashed through him now by the two-timing driving forces of ball and heel, he could “feel” his wife’s voice. And she was disturbingly assertive.

For a solid five minutes of nebulous babble above, with the titanic usurper doing most of the talking and then occasionally fielding inaudible commentary from whoever else was gathered in the conference room, Tony was left increasingly infuriated to a near-volcanic level by the brazen overconfidence and theatrical attempt at authority he could perceive by the timbre of that voice. Who the fuck did the woman think she was fooling? She might have been able to physically restrain her husband by taking advantage of his sexual vulnerabilities long enough to temporarily remove him from the picture, that much was regrettably true, but she certainly hadn’t convinced her miniaturized victim that she deserved to be in his stead, and neither would she be able to sway any of the people she was speaking to right now. Tony was dead-sure. She couldn’t stomp any of them into submission, nor prey upon any fetishistic proclivities they may or may not have had by waving certain perfectly-pedicured body parts in front of their faces and ardently massaging their features against her toned cream-immaculate soles until they gave in. Which meant that her only weapon was a pathetically cocky attitude that did not at all fit her best-suited station in life, that being a demure erotically-accepting house-kitten personality (as far as the little guy was concerned). She was so far outside her element now that Tony would’ve genuinely broken into belly-laughter, if only his lungs weren’t depleted so hurtfully dry of air, his diluting paper-thin skin didn’t burn even worse from additional tremors, and his lips weren’t smothered against the staunch supple globe-curve of her northern sole slab so untenderly smushed across the most fragile and bendable portions of him.

So why wasn’t anyone elselaughing yet on his behalf, the six-incher pondered? They were coming up on ten minutes now of Lillian playing offensive dress-up as the de facto CEO of everything he’d ever built, and still she was addressing them in the same assured, occasionally-animated, but altogether autocratic voice that only their rightful boss should’ve been able to wield. There were no disbelieving guffaws from around the table; no sarcastic call-outs that their time had been wasted; no roars for security to cart her away. Was it possible they were actually listening? That they believed the bullshit she was spouting even more endlessly than the yoga-soled pressure she was exacting into her shrunken husband’s trample-weathered frame like a past-his-prime gingerbread man? The longer this farce wore on, the more Tony felt his indignant ego-poisoned fury expanding outward past his wife alone and engulfing the room, to include every idiotic sap who apparently lacked the vision to know when they were being metaphorically shepherded toward a cliff’s edge. What was wrong with them all? Was Tony the only sane person left in this whole goddamn building?

Even through the literal pitch-darkness of Lillian’s shoe and the cranium-squelching haze induced by so much sustained iron-footed compression, the shrinker could vividly imagine the faces of the peons who were probably seated around that table now. He saw each of their faces in his crush-distracted mind’s eye and bestowed just as much of a grudge as they deserved. Though still no one present up there could compare to the scathing ire he felt for the woman who’d once vowed to stand by him for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health – but who now only stood on him, delusionally planning to take the better, the richer, and the health all for herself, while leaving him only with a body like a crumbled autumn leaf and an involuntary orgasm that he couldn’t even feel past the razing agony of her gigantic ped’s imbalanced weight.

For as frustratingly incensed as he was becoming over the lunacy of his wife’s power-drunkenness not yet being corrected by those who had the capacity to do so, and as concentrated as his downtrodden state was becoming here the longer Lillian focused her weight upon him through the peachy-lushness of her foot like a bowling ball stacked atop a peanut shell, Tony wasn’t sure the bitch could make this scenario any worse on him if she tried. He thought what he wanted most on Earth in this moment was to hear exactly whatever ridiculous magic words his wife was using to charm his moron yes-men, and also for even the most fractional alleviation in the current full-body-flattened tension she was using to make him feel more squished-out than a hollowed fruit husk with all the seeds scooped away. He thoughthe wanted those things. But both feelings turned out to be in error, as Tony received each of his faint wishes nearing half an hour after the giantess had marched them into his domain like she owned the place and started causing who-knew-what kind of havoc for his well-earned prestige. Having essentially not budged from her adopted stance at the head of the conference room once she’d lurched most of her body weight into this single leg, Lillian narrowed the contact point between her silken-sweated leviathan sole and solid ground (or rather semi-solid spouse) at long last by rolling the mild support from her heel upward.